


Make It Stick

by DangerousCommieSubversive



Category: Marvel (Comics), Secret Six
Genre: Bloodplay, Dubious Morality, M/M, Manipulation, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rough Sex, Scarification
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-04
Updated: 2013-10-04
Packaged: 2017-12-28 08:51:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,051
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/990094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DangerousCommieSubversive/pseuds/DangerousCommieSubversive
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Daken and Thomas do a job together and are...venting adrenaline afterwards when Daken makes a frankly bizarre demand.</p><p>Inspired by a suggestion from superkim111</p>
            </blockquote>





	Make It Stick

**Author's Note:**

  * For [superkim111](https://archiveofourown.org/users/superkim111/gifts).



_It can happen over and over again, but it'll never last unless I want it to._

That's a message Daken likes. In general he'd rather make sure people know that they're only dealing with him on _his_ terms, that _he's_ the one with the power to end things and that if he wants he can leave them panting in the dust, crying for his attention but never satisfied. He can arrange things so that they'll always want him. They'll do whatever he tells them to do.

With Thomas it's particularly satisfying, because on some level Thomas _knows_ what Daken's doing, and he goes with it anyway, too absorbed in his own special brand of self-possessed self-loathing to think it's a thing worth fighting. He wants, he gets, and he does what Daken tells him to do, because Daken's the brains of this operation. _Daken's_ the up-and-coming Napoleon here; Thomas knows that he can't hope for more than first lieutenant, and he's fine with that. He's done it before.

But a little part of him still _wants_ to be more _,_ and it's the wanting part that's the most delicious, and so Daken lets him play at being the big man when there's company. He can always be reminded later of where he stands.

Case in point:

They do a job together, _without_ the Six, and Thomas leads. It works fairly well. People are more ready to believe that he's the one in charge. He's bigger and louder and generally very imposing, especially when his six-foot-four is compared to Daken's five-five, his roar placed next to Daken's murmur, his snarl next to Daken's laughter. The average criminal is stupid, or at least complacent, and doesn't pay attention enough to wonder what role the quiet one plays. They listen to the man in front and never notice the pauses for confirmation, the whispered instructions.

And after...well, adrenaline and violence are the only drugs worth anything.

Daken's back is to the wall, which is how he prefers things anyway, and Thomas is growling into the side of his neck, “I hate you.”

“Oh, Thomas.” He traces an ear's curve with his tongue. “I think we both know that's not true.” Huffs at the feeling of a mouth on his throat. “You couldn't hate me if you tried.”

“I hate that I _listen_ to you.” A deep sniff, which certainly won't help Thomas _stop_ wanting him.

“It's hardly your fault that I'm so convincing.”

“You said you'd stop doing the thing.”

“I really can't help it. It's an autonomic defense mechanism.” He grins at the sound of the other man's labored breathing. “Not that I'm complaining about the results, of course.”

“I wish you'd shut up.”

“Shut me up, then.”

Thomas bites Daken's lip when they're kissing, making another growling noise when Daken drags his cowl back and fists a hand in his hair. His mouth is a pleasantly familiar taste, all blood and spice and barely contained rage, and he smells _good._

He feels the impatience as it builds and then counts down in his head _five...four...three..._ to, “I _need_ you.”

“Then what are you _waiting_ for.”

A few minutes of fumbling, and then Daken sinks down onto Thomas' cock, suppressing a growl himself as he locks his ankles behind the other man's back. He's relying entirely on the wall and Thomas for support, but he knows he's not going to fall.

He tugs at brown cloth, drags and tugs until he's exposed enough bare chest to lick. He likes the taste of sweat and the feeling of the three matched scars under his tongue. Scars fascinate him; he doesn't get them himself, can't imagine living a life where the hatred of others might mark _him_ in any lasting way like he can mark others. It seems like such an uncertain way to live. And to build your whole life _around_ your scars—that's an _entirely_ alien concept to him, and he's not sure whether he finds it intriguing or distasteful.

“I like these,” he says against Thomas' skin. “I like how they taste.”

“So you've said.” Thomas is panting as he thrusts; the punishment for his desperation is that this position is _much_ harder on him. “What's your point?”

“Give them to me.”

A stutter in the thrusts. “What?”

“Put your claws back on and _share,_ Thomas.”

“I'm not putting my claws on while we're fucking.”

“We _could_ just stop.”

Thomas hisses and lets go of him with one hand, and Daken looks up to see that his sweat-slick hair is hanging in his eyes and he looks angry and horny and helpless and it's _delicious,_ because Daken _owns_ him now.

And then the claws drag down his chest and it hurts _very_ pleasantly, and _then_ the endorphins hit and it feels even _better._

Even as the cuts heal, he says, “Do it again.”

After the third time, the top of Daken's costume is in shreds, and he's smirking. He's practically _purring._ He grabs the back of Thomas' neck and pulls him in for a kiss that tastes like blood and says, “It's a pity they don't last; we could match.”

“I'll—I'll figure out a way to...make it _stick,_ ” Thomas growls. “ _Mark_ you.”

“I don't think you will.” He tightens his grip, thinking about how he could move his hand around to grab Thomas' _throat,_ but that wouldn't get him what he wants. “But do it again.”

Then, when they're done, when Thomas comes hard in him, after he drops when he's pushed and lets Daken fuck his mouth— _then,_ on his knees on the bloody floor, Thomas pulls his shirt down and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and says, “I'll figure out how to do it. But I'm not going to give you _those._ ”

“Of _course_ you won't.” Daken helps him up with one hand, grabs his chin with the other and pulls him close, their mouths bare millimeters apart. “It would be too _obvious._ ”

“This is feeling less and less like a partnership.”

“Thomas. I'm hurt.”

Thomas' eyes are dark, with anger or the remnants of lust, or quite possibly both. “Oh, I'll hurt you, all right.”

Daken smiles and purrs, “I'm _sure_ you will. The trick _is,_ can you make it _last?_ ”


End file.
